Uni is always really boring on the weekends

We’ve all been there; it’s 3pm, you’re half-dressed watching Netflix and wondering what exactly happened to your big study weekend. At some point you have to listen to that small voice impeding your fifth episode of Breaking Bad and embrace what it’s been trying to tell you: uni is painfully boring on the weekend.

Whether it’s because all of your flatmates have abandoned you to visit their cooler, less needy friends, or the options for going out are severely limited, the weekends are almost always less exciting than the weekdays. We’ve boiled it down to the following reasons:

Everyone goes to London

They’ll brag about it on Facebook too

Despite living in cities far cooler than the capital will ever be, every Friday night we bare witness to herds of students going to London to spend their few precious days off from university. Why? Students that came from London to universities like Bristol, Manchester and Newcastle should be well aware that they trounce London in almost every regard, everyone else should stay local and feed small businesses (bars) their student loans instead of blowing it in London’s bars.

When you leave these cities you inevitably leave behind your fellow students who either don’t have the money to go with you, or couldn’t stand the thought of visiting the family in Lyme Regis another time this month. Stop it.

Only locals go out

Freshers week was great, because instead of having to rub shoulders with the townies you spend time with the entire population of North London which has descended on your university. You were cool with that but since then it hasn’t been the same. Once everyone has returned home in the family Jaguar so their parents can question their new attire, you’re left alone with the scary natives and it isn’t pleasant. There’s only so much of that accent you can take, only so many times you can “a’right there” before the Bristolian accent invades your dreams, keeps you up and sinks into the distant regions of your mind.

Going out on the weekend when you no longer have Harry and Hugo to keep you company and riddle you with anecdotes of “that one time on my gap yah” means you have to share all the clubs with the locals who will stop at nothing to make you feel uncomfortable and harass you into submission.

Not all locals are friendly

That friend from home is visiting

Every weekend you’re introduced to a new mate that your best friend has invited to stay in their already tiny bedroom for a few days and this person is always nothing like your friend. Why? Because they’ve changed, they’ve moved on, and it’s time that your friend did too.

With these people there’s a definitive limit on how many old pictures and in-jokes you can put up with before you naturally retire to the safety of your room. So that’s another Saturday night spent watching Take Me Out with little or no desire to go into the kitchen while old chants are sung and private school days are reminisced about. The worst part? You can’t even order pizza to help you through those lonely hours, because you know you’ll end up paying for everyone’s.

Time to hide in your room

Your friend from home is visiting

The day has come, the shoe is on the other foot and finally you can be the one to smile to yourself as your old mate sings about that time you downed all those Jagerbombs back in Brighton. Problem is, that didn’t happen, and if you aren’t lucky enough to have a mate like the one described above, then by the end of the weekend your lifelong companion will be doing shots with Toby from flat 12, forgetting you ever existed.

You have nothing to talk about anymore

All the great club nights are on weekdays

It’s true, all of it. Why couldn’t Cult be on a Saturday? Why does everything fun have to happen in the early hours of the morning when you have a two hour seminar?

This leaves the weekends, boring, desolate and void of any fun. At best, you’ll get a deadly hangover after you cave and go to your least favourite club in an attempt to fit in. Not even the smooth, melancholy sounds of Morrissey on a Saturday can ease you through your comedown, and then you’ve wasted the entire weekend looking painfully at your laptop screen while the reading for Early Modern Politics lights up your eyes. Disgraceful.